Speaker 1: Calarogu Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Ghost Scary Stories.
This episode is titled The Pumpkin Patch Haunting, Part One,
The Cursed Harvest.
Speaker 2: Emily Thornwood's boots squelched in the mud as she made
her way through the darkening pumpkin patch. The October air
bit at her cheeks, carrying the scent of decaying leaves
and something else, something earthier and more unsettling. She pulled
her flannel jacket tighter around her body and glanced at
her watch, ninety seven pm. Just a few more pumpkins
to check before calling it a night. You're being ridiculous,
she muttered to herself, trying to shake off the eerie
feeling that had been dogging her all evening. City girl
scared of a little dark. But it wasn't just the dark.
Ever since she'd bought Thornward pumpkin patch, no relation, just
a stroke of nominal luck. Strange things had been happening.
Tools misplaced cold spots in the field on warm days,
and sometimes just at the edge of her hearing whispers
that didn't belong to any of her workers. As she
knelt to examine a particularly promising pumpkin A gust of
wind swept through the patch. The corn maize to her
left rustled ominously, and she could have sworn she heard
her name carried on the breeze. Emily. She shot to
her feet, heart pounding, Who's there? Her voice sounded thin
and reedy in the vast openness of the field. No
answer came, save for another whisper of wind. Emily shook
her head, chuckling nervously. Get it together, thornwood, there's nobody.
A flash of movement caught her eye. About twenty yards away,
A pumpkin rolled lazily across her path, as if nudged
by an invisible hand. Emily froze, her breath catching in
her throat. That was impossible. The ground was flat. There
was no slope for it to roll down. As she watched,
another pumpkin a few feet away began to rock back
and forth. Okay, that's it, she said, backing away slowly.
I'm done for the night. She turned to hurry back
to the barn and nearly screamed. There not ten feet
in front of her stood a figure. It was a man,
or what had once been a man. He wore a
tattered suit that might have been fashionable a century ago,
now moldering and hanging loosely on his gaunt frame. But
it was his face that made Emily's blood run cold.
Where eyes should have been, there were only dark, empty sockets,
and his mouth was twisted into a rictus grin that
glowed with an orange light, as if a candle flickered
behind her teeth. Emily stumbled backward, a scream lodged in
her throat. The figure raised a spectral hand, pointing directly
at her.
Speaker 3: Leave.
Speaker 2: It rasped, its voice like dry leaves scraping across granite. Leave,
or suffer my fate. Then, as quickly as it had appeared,
the figure vanished, leaving Emily alone in the darkness, her
ragged breathing the only sound in the still night air.
And you're sure you weren't drinking, miss Thornwood, Emily glared
at Sheriff Mark Hawkins across her kitchen table for the
last time. No, I don't drink, especially not when I'm working,
the Sheriff sighed, rubbing his temple. He was a solid
man in his early forties, with the weathered look of
someone who'd seen it all, or thought he had until now.
Look I'm just trying to cover all the bases here.
People see all sorts of things in the dark, especially
this time of year. Halloween brings out the crazies. I
know what I saw, Emily insisted, And it's not the
first weird thing that's happened since I bought this place.
Didn't the previous owners tell you anything? Hawkins shifted uncomfortably.
The Johnsons, they weren't big talkers, sold the place in
a hurry and moved out west. Emily leaned forward. Don't
you think that's strange? This patch is a gold mine
during Halloween season. Why would anyone sell it and leave
town so quickly? Unless something was wrong, Miss thorn would
Emily please? Emily Hawkins corrected himself. I've lived in this
town my whole life. Thornwood Pumpkin Patch has been here
for generations. If it was haunted, don't you think we'd
know about it. Emily stood up and walked to a
small desk in the corner of the kitchen. She returned
with a stack of yellowed papers. I've been doing some research.
Did you know the original owner of this patch died
here on Halloween night nineteen twenty three? Hawkins raised an eyebrow,
Jack o'lanton. Everyone knows that story. It's part of the
town's Halloween law. Jack O'Lantern. Emily's eyes widened. You're kidding
a fraid not. His real name was John Landon, but
he loved Halloween so much the nickname Stuck. Found dead
in the patch on November one, nineteen twenty three, officially
ruled a heart attack. Emily spread the papers on the table.
These are copies of old town records and newspaper clippings.
The official story doesn't add up. There were rumors of
foul play, but the investigation was closed suspiciously quickly. And
get this, every owner since has either sold the patch
within a year or suffered some kind of accident or misfortune.
Hawkins frowned, looking over the documents. Where did you get
these town hall archives? I've been trying to research the
patch's history for marketing purposes. But now she trailed off,
shiver running through her. The sheriff was quiet for a
long moment, his eyes scanning the papers. Finally, he looked
up at Emily. All right, I'll tell you what. I'll
increase patrols around the patch for the next few weeks,
if anyone's trying to scare you off your property, we'll
catch them. Emily nodded, grateful but unsatisfied she knew what
she'd seen wasn't some prankster in a costume. After Hawkins left,
Emily found herself unable to sleep. The face of the
apparition jack o Lantern, she now realized, kept flashing in
her mind. On a whim, she decided to go back
out to the patch. She needed to prove to herself
that she wasn't going crazy. The full moon cast an
eerie glow over the pumpkins. As Emily made her way
through the field, the air was unnaturally still, not even
a brief disturbing the leaves. She swept her flashlight back
and forth, jumping at every shadow. As she neared the
spot where she'd seen the ghost, her flashlight began to flicker.
Emily smacked it against her palm, but the light only
grew weaker. In the distance, a soft orange glow caught
her eye. Heart pounding, she moved closer There, rising from
the ground as if it had sprouted like one of
her pumpkins, was the ghostly figure of Jack O'Lantern. This time,
Emily stood her ground. What do you want, she called out,
her voice stronger than she felt. The ghost's mouth opened,
that terrible orange light spilling out. You're in danger, Emily Thornwood,
it said, its voice, like wind through a graveyard. The
patch holds secrets darker than you can imagine. Leave now,
or you'll share my curse. I'm not leaving, Emily said,
surprised by her own defiance. This is my home now.
Whatever happened to you, I'm sorry, but she never finished
her sentence. At that moment, the ground beneath her feet
began to tremble. All around her. Pumpkins started to glow
with the same unearthly light as Jack's eyes and mouth.
They rose into the air, spinning slowly. Jack's form began
to waver, as if blown by an unfelt wind. You've
made your choice, he said, his voice fading. Beware all
hallows eve, Emily Thornwood, Beware the stroke of midnight. With
a sound like a thousand screams, the pumpkins shot towards Emily.
She dropped to the ground, covering her head as the
guds whizzed past her, missing by inches. When she looked up,
both Jack and the pumpkins were gone. Emily lay there
in the mud, her heart threatening to burst from her chest.
In the distance, the town clock began to toll. She
counted the chimes with growing dread. One, two, three. It
was October thirtieth. She had exactly twenty four hours until
Halloween night, until the stroke of midnight.
Speaker 1: Ghost is a Caloroga Shark Media production, written and hosted
by Alexander Ian McIntyre, produced by Mark Francis. Executive producers
Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast may
have been created with the assistance of AI.
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